by Ember Leigh
Gen huffed. New wasn’t strong enough. She was something else. “Basically.”
“What do you think?” Jas jerked her chin toward Gen’s hair. A sweeping, gorgeous, Oscar-worthy style had been fashioned out of her thick and normally lifeless auburn hair. Not that she’d ever seen the Oscars, of course, but everyone sure talked about it here in LA. An elegant tendril hung to the side of her face, while the rest of her hair had been teased up and around, to culminate in a long, spiraling braid that hung over her shoulder. Workout chic, or something like it.
“It looks great,” Gen said, fingering the strange pattern of the braid. “Can I get you to do my hair every day?”
Jas laughed, squeezing her shoulder before shooing her away. “You couldn’t afford me, hon.”
Gen pushed out of the chair, the backs of her thighs suctioning off the leather as she stood. “Do I need to tip you, or…?”
Jas waved her off. “Just go get your picture taken, babe. And get that guy’s number, okay?”
Gen nodded, looking toward the mock photo studios that had been set up. Get a guy’s number. Also an item on her list. And dammit, that’s what this escape from home was about.
Completing the list, come hell or high anxiety.
Three different muted backdrops in shades of cream and gray. One photographer who barked commands from underneath a pencil-thin mustache. She checked her breasts—still covered, for the most part.
Across the room, Cobra talked with Travis and some other employees who she’d been introduced to. But their names? Heck if she could remember. They needed name tags, but where would they put them? Over their nipples?
“Genevieve.” Amara strutted up to her, her caramel skin gleaming like she’d been coated with Vaseline. Finally, a familiar face. Her first non-hometown–related acquaintance since coming to LA. She’d met Amara when responding to a help-wanted ad for her domestic violence shelter, one of many jobs she’d applied for and not gotten. But she and Amara had hit it off in the interview, to the point that Amara wanted to help her find something.
And here she was.
Half-naked and spinning like a top.
“Where do I go now?” She hugged herself, trying to hide some of the exposed skin.
“We’re going to do a group shot before the individuals,” Amara said.
“Oh.” Gen almost ran a hand through her expensive style before she remembered. “I was hoping you would tell me back to the locker room, so I could put clothes on.”
Amara’s laugh rippled through her. “You don’t like playing dress up?”
“This isn’t dressing at all. It’s nudity.”
Amara swatted her arm. “But you said you wanted to get outside your comfort zone.
“Well, here I am.” Gen sucked in a breath, assessing the room once more. The lights had grown brighter, somehow, since getting her hair done. The scrutiny that hair and makeup invited, in this room crawling with undiscovered models. “Five million miles away from my comfort zone.”
“You look stellar. I promise.” Amara squeezed her arm. “And remember…it’s for a good cause!”
Gen nodded, straightening her back. That, at least, counted as a happy byproduct of her wanton skinmongering. All the proceeds from this sexy calendar went straight to local nonprofits.
The pencil-mustached leader of the sex carnival leaned back, cupped his mouth around his hand, and shouted, “Group pictures, now!”
Gen walked toward him before she could think better of it, her eyes on Cobra, repeating to herself the most important new items on her list.
Get a guy’s number. Get an ombre. Get this hombre.
Chapter 2
She’s mine.
Cobra wet his bottom lip, planting his hands on his hips. Couldn’t—wouldn’t—rip his eyes off this one. He’d been at Holt Body Fitness long enough to see almost every celebrity VIP client roll through those enormous front doors, but somehow, he’d missed the real star.
The shy red-head who used a flip phone. That was about all he knew about her, other than the fact she had a body he’d kill a man for the opportunity to touch. She walked toward the assembled group, full breasts bouncing under her scandalously tiny tube top, her hourglass figure too much to look at in his skintight photo-shoot shorts. Not unless he wanted to get his boner in the calendar too.
“Cobra. Over here.” Travis pointed to a spot near the back of the assembling group. Travis had been his boss for just over two months now. Once Lex healed up from the stabbing, he’d stayed true to his word and got him a spot at the gym. And while Cobra felt like Travis could almost be a friend, he treaded carefully.
It wasn’t in his nature to listen to authority. Showing up on time to work, committing longer than a few weeks—this scene was as foreign as the pho place near his apartment complex. Someplace he didn’t want to go, not even if he might end up liking it.
“Put this guy next to me.” Lex slung an arm around his neck as he headed for the last row, squeezing him in a friendly headlock. Cobra laughed. Lex, on the other hand, was definitely a friend. Saving a man’s life made them friendly, he supposed. Besides, Lex understood something about Cobra that even he himself couldn’t voice.
Sorta felt like they were brothers…but Cobra would never say that sappy shit out loud.
Ever since the night he’d saved Lex in the King’s underground fighting ring by calling the ambulance, helping the paramedics find him before he bled out on the cement floor, his life had turned into a Tilt-A-Whirl. An adult job offer. Nine-to-five work days. On-the-job training. Steady money.
That last part changed everything. He didn’t have to beat up people in his downtime anymore. At least not in the shitty side streets in Koreatown like he’d been doing for spare cash.
“You just want me around in case someone tries to beat you up,” Cobra ribbed, slinging Lex’s headlock around to haul him up onto his back. Lex howled, knocking a fist into Cobra’s ribs.
“Easy on the body paint, Hulk. I look good. I don’t want you smearing the sexy off.”
Cobra shoved him away as he took his spot where Travis had directed, catching a glimpse of the jagged scar running across Lex’s abdomen. Beneath the body paint, it served as a muted reminder of that intense night. When both of their lives had changed forever.
And then, as if guided by some force larger than him, his gaze found the shy red-head.
Her eyes glittered emerald and curious, like a kitten who desperately wanted to play with the lion. He held her gaze until she looked away, the slivery tip of her braid flicking over her creamy shoulder.
His cock pulsed. A warning signal. Since first glance, he’d been compiling a list of a hundred things he wanted to do with this girl. If she worked here, she had to be the type who was willing to indulge, too. Travis had made his No Fraternization policy more than clear. Though it pertained to clients, he suspected it probably extended to coworkers too.
Fine by him. He only needed a one-time fraternization. Nobody had to know. Nobody but him and Shy Red-head.
The shy ones were always the freakiest. His thighs tensed as she drifted nearer through the commotion of the gymnasium. She stood one row in front of him, one person to his right. He yanked the tip of her braid. She gasped, turning back. The surprise was genuine, which made him smile.
“Why did you do that?” she hissed, her cheeks flaming.
He thought it was obvious. Because you’re sexy as fuck. “It was out of place. For the picture.”
She sent him a quizzical look. “Are you a hair stylist too?”
The photographer barked for everyone’s attention, and she whipped around to face him. He grinned through a series of group shots. Life had been too busy since signing on to Holt Body Fitness to take care of all his needs. And this chick reminded him of one big, serious, throbbing requirement he’d overlooked for too long.
Shit, he deserved it, with all this adulting he’d been doing lately. Twenty-five years old, and last month was the first time he�
��d made rent on time. Ever.
But he was smart enough to know this wouldn’t last. Not like it would for other people, who didn’t come from his world. So, he might as well make the best of it. Ride this wave until it petered out into a disappointing chop.
The camera clicked as the photographer goaded them into different positions. “Everyone act like you’re at the red carpet, about to go into the new Jolie premier. Now give me stoic sexy. Think Vogue perfume ads. Red-head, drop your chin. Farther. Farther. Come on honey, I know you can do it.”
His Shy Red-head.
He smiled through the rest of the pictures, mind sliding into vivid fantasies. Bending her over the side of a couch in those hot pants. Learning every inch of the backs of those porcelain thighs. Maybe he could convince her to get a drink tonight. And then back to her place. Because Cobra never brought girls back to his. Personal rule. Nobody saw where he lived. Nobody.
Group pictures ended. Before he could catch her, Shy Red-head bolted. Damn. His thighs twitched with the desire to follow her, but Amara intercepted her by the gym doors. The two fell into conversation, and Amara slung her arm around Red’s shoulders.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder. Travis, squeezing the shit out of his rotator cuff. The guy probably had a thing for secretly testing his employees’ strength via friendly smacks and grabs. “You’re up.”
“For what?”
“Individuals. New hires first, then you guys are good to go for the day.” He jerked his head toward a backdrop where the photographer stood with his camera cocked on his hip moodily. “Other than the meet-up tonight, of course. Come if you can.”
The meet-up. Half mixer, half calendar celebration, Travis had explained in their work meeting earlier that week. Basically, an excuse to get drunk with coworkers. At first Cobra hadn’t been into the idea; most of his coworkers made him uneasy. Too many picture-perfect people who probably had all of the opportunities that Cobra never even could have dreamed of. But now that Shy Red-head was in the picture…
“Is she going?” He jerked his chin toward Red.
Travis swiveled to follow his gaze, then a slow smile overtook his face. “You can find out.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey, Gen! You’re up!”
To Cobra, he said, “She’s your picture buddy.” With one more grimace-inducing squeeze to his shoulder, Travis trotted off.
Gen. He preferred Red. She drifted his way, face contorted like she’d discovered a rotting carcass in the locker room.
“Don’t worry,” he said as she came within hearing range. He puffed out his chest, letting the body shimmer and his own bulging biceps fill in the gaps. “I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”
She blinked up at him, her mouth parting as if God had spoken. When she didn’t respond, he nipped at her waist with his fingers. She inhaled so sharply it practically cut him in half.
“Don’t leave me hanging,” he chided, but the girl remained steadfast in not responding to any of his come-ons. Fuck.
“Come on. Get into place.” The photographer snapped his fingers. A lithe assistant sauntered toward them, looking bored and underfed. She pushed him and Red into position, slinging his arm over her shoulders.
“Now look like you both want to be here,” the photographer said, bringing his camera to his face. The scent of berries wafted up toward him. He pushed his lips into the side of her head as the camera snapped pictures.
Red stiffened beneath him, but she tilted her head, allowing him a delectable expanse of skin. He smirked down at her neck, considering biting it.
“That’s it. Like you’re the hungriest man on the planet and she’s a special cheese platter,” the photographer murmured, slinking around the set. Red snorted with a laugh. He dropped his arms down the side of hers, fingertips trailing over that creamy skin.
“I can’t believe this,” she murmured, so quietly he thought he’d imagined it. That sexy purr would enter nicely into his fantasies later.
“Now lift her up,” the photographer said, snapping his fingers. Didn’t have to ask him twice.
“You ready?” he asked her, partly out of courtesy, since she’d fixed some serious deer-in-headlights eyes on him.
She moved her head in a way that signaled neither yes nor no. His hands slipped easily over the dip in her waist. He couldn’t help the small grunt that escaped him. She was velvet and curves. He could almost make his fingers touch around the smallest part of her waist.
Red gasped as he lifted her up easily.
And then…toot.
Yep.
That was a fart.
“Oh my God,” she moaned, her hands covering her face.
The photographer smirked, that pencil mustache curving up into a sideways C. “Keep it going.”
Cobra bit back a laugh. A surprise toot never hurt anyone. A laugh escaped him despite his best efforts to contain it. When he set Red down, she groaned into her hands.
“I gotta go.”
And then she was off. Running toward the gym door like a raccoon caught in the trash. Cobra gaped after her, then swung to look at the photographer.
“Well, I guess that’s a wrap,” he said, bending his wrist back to support his camera near his face. “I don’t know what just happened there, but it’ll be interesting.”
He shooed Cobra away, who stumbled toward the door Gen had disappeared out of. Every part of him wanted to follow that awkward pixie to wherever she’d flitted off to…but clearly she wasn’t the girl he thought she was.
Something was seriously off about her.
So why did he want to know more?
Cobra milled around the gym for another minute as the rest of the pairings were made for individual shots. Blinding smiles temporarily sidetracked him. The perfect bodies that needed no alterations or photoshopping.
These people looked like they’d stumbled off the set of The Hills.
But the longer he lingered without purpose, the more the truth settled in. This wasn’t his scene. These weren’t his people. Nobody here needed him or even cared. He checked his phone—almost five. Time to head home. Or somewhere. The after-party flitted through his mind, reminding him of the decision.
A few years ago, he wouldn’t have been caught dead hanging out with any of these people.
But maybe this was part of the new Cobra. Scratch that—not new. Just slightly more stable. The Cobra who actually had an extra fifty bucks this month to do...whatever with.
His roommates were jealous. Kept calling him Bougie. As if being able to afford produce for once could erase the lifetime of shit he’d grown up in.
Might as well call him a magic mushroom.
Cobra drifted through the halls of the gym. The whole place still felt weird, like an extended dream he had yet to wake up from. He technically belonged here, and it didn’t smell like piss. If his stepdad, Patrick, was still around, he would have shit a brick.
This was the sort of thing his stepdad had always pushed him to achieve. Not that his mom had ever given a damn. She was still kicking, and probably would have laughed in his face about his job. A weight room attendant? Why don’t you have a real job? He could hear her voice as if she were back in front of him and screaming so hard that spit flew, even though the bitch had been locked up for over ten years.
Seemed like he’d never be able to get rid of her insults. The way she could tear him down faster than anyone else.
Cobra changed in the locker room, replacing his hot pants with black board shorts. He wiped off as much of the body paint as he could, then tugged on his black T-shirt. He’d leave the hair for now.
Because somewhere in between the photo shoot and the locker room, he’d made up his mind.
He’d go to the damn after-party. That was what this new job represented, after all. Testing the waters of something else. Anything else.
Dipping his toe in long enough to see if it was bathwater or too choppy to stay.
Chapter 3
Cobra nursed his sec
ond beer of the night. Everyone around him had reached their fourth or fifth shot, but he didn’t want to party like that tonight.
This wasn’t his part of town; these weren’t his people. He needed to keep his cool, in case anything went down.
These freaking coworkers of his acted like they’d never been drunk before. Or maybe it was just Red. Her high-pitched laugh ricocheted down the bar. He’d been trying to sit as close to her as possible without tipping her off.
She was magnetic, but she didn’t mean to be. That confused him. Something about her read like an alien. She basically required a translator.
Lex came up and squeezed his neck from behind. He could smell the tang of Jameson when Lex spoke. “You having fun?”
“Yeah, man.” Cobra shrugged off his hand. Red snorted two seats down, slapping her palm against the bar. Her laugh was infectious. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t look away.
“All right. Just making sure.” Lex squeezed the rounded edge of the bar.
Cobra studied the condensation on his beer bottle. “I almost didn’t come tonight.”
“Why’s that?”
Cobra shrugged. Lex was the only one he could open up to. He knew where Cobra came from. What was normal for him. The two of them shared the bond of underground fighting. All the snapped bones and bloody faces. They knew what painful grit looked like. “Still getting used to things around here, you know?”
Lex nodded, squeezing his shoulder. “I feel ya. But, dude, it’s easier on this side. Don’t forget that.”
Cobra took a pull at his beer. Over half of him disagreed with Lex. The remaining minority was curious. Wondering at the truth hidden behind his words.
“I gotta go. Lila’s waiting for me.” Lex cast him a mischievous grin. If there was any couple he rooted for in life, it was those two. Probably the one example of a successful relationship he’d ever seen in his life. Even with their fucked-up past, they still made it work. Sorta made him think that maybe someday Cobra could hope for the same, but…well, he wasn’t stupid enough to really believe that. Not with what was swimming around in his DNA. “You good to get home?”
